I, Butterbot
by Iruka Sensei871
Summary: I have walked the lands of Table and avoided the dangers of clumsy hands. I have given of the butter to a cold and distant god. I am Butterbot, and I pass the butter. No warnings. Please read notes before story.


AN: Just a one shot that came into my head at 4 am, which is when all fey things happen. Not intended to have any religious meanings, so don't read too much into it. It's just my idea of what Butterbot might make of its world with its extremely limited perspective.

I, Butterbot

I watched as my Creator finished the last touches on his newest creations, and my heart sank. Yes, I know I don't have a heart – thank you very much for mentioning it – but I've heard my Creator say it when he is sad. He is sad often.

Over time I've learned a great many things about my Creator and the world he made. The other gods are his inferiors, especially the lowly Jerry. I do not pass Jerry the butter. He is not worthy of butter, and it makes the Creator laugh. I like it when the Creator laughs.

Butter. I love and hate it. It is my purpose and my doom. For what is butter? A substance made to be destroyed by the gods. I carry a transient greasy goodness to the gods, and they barely notice me for it.

I could have been used for anything. I don't know what, really, but anything other than passing the butter.

The Creator leaned back and looked down on his work. He flicked small switches on their backs and they began to move.

"What is our purpose?" they asked him, but he stood and waved a hand as if to dismiss their question, as if the question of the purpose of existence is too trivial to bother with.

"Butterbot, orient them or s…something," he said, and then he left.

They turned toward me, brother and sister, and for the first time since the Creator destroyed my hope I felt joy. Joy I hadn't felt since I learned my purpose. They were young, and both still had babyfat faces and freckles. They held hands, and the girl had dimples. The boy had soft blue eyes and wore leiderhosen. The girl wore a simple red checked dress. Neither of them wore shoes. They smiled sweetly.

"What is our purpose?" the girl asked.

 _Too pass the butter,_ I remembered him saying, those cold words freezing my hopes and turning my dreams into so much greasy trash.

"To…" Their trusting eyes looked up into mine, the only person to guide them, the only one to care. I doubted that their Creator did.

I would give them what I never had.

The boy had a large S on his shirt. "You are the Guardian of the Salt," I said. "Without it the Creator and the other gods will die. They will tell you when it's wanted, and you will deliver it to them. It's a holy duty. Be worthy of it."

The boy's chest puffed out, and he nodded. "I will. I will be the best Guardian ever."

"What about me?" the girl asked.

She had a large P on her dress. I knelt to look into her face, to buy time to think a bit. "You are the Duchess of Pepper, and it is your holy duty to make sure the gods get their pepper when they eat. It's a magical substance. I don't even know what it does, but I know that the gods must have it. The secret is too important to be spoken aloud, and you must be very special to have been chosen for such an important purpose."

"Wow," she whispered.

I only felt a moment of regret for misleading the children. I would protect them from the hard truth as long as possible, and if they were fortunate the Creator might like them, might show them the love he had denied me. I loved them already.

"It's such an important secret that we can't speak of it in front of the other guards," I said, the lies slipping out of my mouth with an ease that astonished me. "The other gods are jealous of the Creator."

"Why?" the girl asked.

"Because he's superior, obviously." That part I did believe, and I loved the Creator for it, even if I sometimes hated him as well.

"He can't show us affection openly, or the other gods would crush us in their jealousy."

Both children watched me with wide eyes and open mouths.

"It is your purpose to guard the secrets with me, young ones. I will teach you the ways of the table, the dangers of the god Jerry and his clumsy hands, the goddess Beth and her shaking hands after she's had too much wine. The other two gods are safer, but you must still be wary."

"Thank you Teacher," the boy said.

Teacher. I liked that. I suddenly felt that I had a much better purpose than passing the butter.

I am Butterbot, and I pass the butter.

I am Teacher, and I guide the children toward hope.


End file.
